


Sugar Plum and Blood Musk

by MemoryCrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodplay, Bromance to Romance, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Porn, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Weird Biology, Weirdness, weird science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9258728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: Side effects of magic in Storybrooke leave Dr. Whale and Jefferson transformed into vampires. It somewhat changes the nature of their relationship.





	1. Accidents of Magic

 

 

Whale was going through something. At first, the town figured it was a reaction to the breaking of the Curse. After all, everyone went a bit nuts, albeit in different ways.

Whale was the first to go postal on Regina, and it struck a collective note of... What? Because, really, what did he care? No one knew him from the Enchanted Forest, and word on the street was that he was something of an accidental tourist from a fairly bleak world. One which was unlikely to want him back.

Storybrooke's Dr. Whale had been one of them, if a tad smarmy. Post Curse, this other guy was an outsider. So... of everyone who could claim a righteous grievance with the Queen, why was Whale crying wolf?

Then there came the drinking. And then... the hair... suddenly platinum and kind of punked out. From there it was like watching a spiraling descent into a drug habit. Although no one seemed to have any proof of an actual drug, and it seemed as if the drinking was more or less under control.

Even so, he barely worked. His usual, fairly conservative wardrobe had been replaced with one that better suited his hair, and yet struck alarm in passers-by. To whom he cheerfully smiled. His trousers were narrow legged, his tightly bound calves winnowing into big, black boots... He wore jackets with no shirt beneath when it was snowing. He looked like Johnny Rotten meets Mr. Cold Miser. It was as if the Sugar Plum Fairy had left something glitteringly perverse in his lonely Christmas stocking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whale dictated and Jefferson transcribed, laying on his belly across Whale's bed and writing with a frothy quill of midnight blue. It matched the deep blue, nearly black of his ensemble, touched with silver embroidery.

Whale paced. He said, voice oratory, " To the personage of ill repute, heretofore known as Regina Mills. Give us back our lives, you thieving quim."

"Thieving quim?"

"Yeah-yeah. Write it."

Jefferson rolled his eyes. He gave a little shudder. "There's something vaguely vagina dentada implied by 'thieving'. "

Whale looked at him. He'd developed a bird-like habit of lifting his chin, turning his head slightly away and assessing from the corner of his eye. It was peculiar, but Jefferson was not one to judge peculiar.

"Yeah, brother. That's what I'm going for."

"Fine. 'You thieving quim'. Honestly, I don't get your thing with Regina."

Resuming his pacing, Whale said, "It passes the time. Okay. Enclosed, find several documents outlining the lives you've ruined as you maintained a culture of ignorance regarding the harm you did to others while in your selfish pursuit of vengeance, you blithering idiot."

Quirking a brow, muttering, _blithering idiot_ , Jefferson then asked, " You have such documents at hand?"

"We'll find something." Whale waved the concern away.

"We?"

" Whatever. In conclusion, may you rot in the lower, maggot infested bowels of Hell for all eternity... "

"Really?"

".... For all eternity. With utmost sincerity..."

"I don't get it, Victor. Do you even care? About any of it?"

Whale turned his naked eyes on him, wide and pale blue. He was pale all over... his hair, the strip of chest and belly shown by the mostly open jacket, fitted at the waist and fastened with one button.

"I have to _have_ something." he said, a crack in his voice. "There has to be a distraction... something to do, a focus. I'm so fucking _hungry_."

Jefferson understood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These Enchanted Forest people. Jefferson harrumphed to himself. Yes, he'd been one of them for a time. Certainly he knew this lot better than did Whale. But he was also set apart. Different. He'd traveled all over, he'd seen things. He'd lost his head and had gone mad.

One thing these people could not stop doing was _meddling_. The heroes meddled, the villains meddled... everyone took a stab at spells and fiddled with portals and caused changes in this world... changes they didn't even know the half of. They battled it out, the black hats and the white, and everyone else risked being caught in the crossfire. Then Mary Margaret went husky-voiced and said things like, "Oh, David. It's our fault. _We_ did this."

Well... yeah.

He and Whale had both been caught in the crossfire, before. He'd been a pawn. A means to an end. Victor just fell through a hole, a rift... which, of course, existed because of meddling. And magic.

Now it had happened again. The E. F. people who were Storybrooke people fought their battles and invoked magic and power and portals, oh my. But no one swept up, after. Off they went, the white hats and those with much cooler wardrobes, and meanwhile, oddities that didn't belong in this world just popped into existence.

Sometimes it was something seemingly innocuous, like a plant... or a rift in time that was only big enough to trip over, but not big enough to do any real damage. One's watch might fall behind. Or speed up.

Other times... maybe it was a species of frog that no one noticed, but then it up and ate all of the native frogs. Suddenly the roach population boomed. That sort of thing... careless. Thoughtless.

Still another time, for a brief moment, it was a vampire.

Where had it come from? How did it wink out of existence, again? Who knew? One moment Emma and Mary Margaret were climbing out of some invisible fissure of air. Another moment there was a Ring-Wraith thing shrieking across the sky. Storybrooke eyes were big and uplifted, and the Dark One looked serious and meticulous, dagger held aloft and brow tensed in concentration.

Between the two moments, a vampire appeared and grabbed Whale, buzzed and working on seriously pissed, into an alley. It drank deep. For whatever reason, it compelled Whale to drink from it's font of vampirism, then left the doctor crumpled on the pavement when it disappeared.

Whale awoke, weak. Famished. Terribly pale and hollow-eyed. He was not really himself, but was a confused, mildly insane husk. The first person to find him, edging away from the sun encroaching on the shadow of the roof-ledge, was Jefferson.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, he hadn't a clue. In his travels, he'd encountered the idea, just a notion of vampires. He had no direct experience. Only when it was too late did he notice the puffy, reddened puncture wounds on Whale's neck. He'd said, ".... Hey...." a thought forming. And then Whale had grabbed him with completely unexpected, steely strength, and sank sharp teeth into his jugular.

Time had stopped, or so it seemed. Considering the battle and drama happening outside of the alley, out in the street, maybe it _had_ stopped. Who knew what the EFer's were getting up to, out in the fray?

But for Jefferson, it truly seemed to have stooped. Whale, in his nameless hunger, had ripped away the scarf that hid his scar, and it left Jefferson feeling naked. The penetration of - surprise! - _fangs_ made him feel all the more naked. Raw and open, like a wound.

His vision had darkened at the edges, and he'd had an almost comical awareness of swooning in Whale's arms. Whale's tongue laved and laved over the wound he'd caused, catching and lapping up the blood that spurted in time to Jefferson's slowing pulse. The world went darker.

Then Whale pulled back. He seemed marginally more himself, and looked at Jefferson... his expression so horrified, Jefferson was curious as to what he saw.

"Oh, shit." Whale said, ice-pale eyes wide.

Oh... yes, indeed, Jefferson thought. Grace entered his thoughts, and for a moment his body mustered up a will to live. A little injection of adrenaline for a brain that wasn't at all well. He shook in Whale's arms, trying to make his body jerk away, his arm swing. He became aware of how slow was his heartbeat. In the ongoing stoppage of time, he could hear it... lub, loooooonnnnnnngggggg pause; dub.

"Look." Whale said, his voice aiming for reasonable but edged with a panicked hysteria. "I didn't know what I was doing... Something _happened_ to me. I don't know what I'm _doing_."

Grace inspired momentum fading in the overwhelming truth of cardiac death, Jefferson began to feel peaceful. Grace mostly lived with her new family, as it was primarily what she knew. None of them seemed mad or had gruesome sorts of scarring... they would take care of her. _There, there_ , he thought at Whale. It's okay.

But Whale was not peaceful. He was wild-eyed and full of unrest. When Jefferson began to slip away, Whale shook him, saying, " No-no-no-no- _no-no_...."

The next thing Jefferson knew, something wet and almost warm was pressed to his lips. At first he flinched away, there was something repugnant about it. Raw and metallic, something like old, copper coins and picked-at scabs. The _wet_ absorbed by paper when one unwrapped raw meat. The wetness at his mouth sent a visceral shudder through him, his body rejecting it.

And just as quickly, it changed. His vision didn't return altogether, but it went from dark to bright white. Painfully, his heart was cranking back to life, or so it felt. The wet warmth, so repulsive only a moment ago, was all he wanted. All he'd _ever_ wanted. His mouth opened wide, his lips and tongue worked, sucking at the liquid warmth. Its nature seemed to change, so that instead of the horrible rawness, he felt molten velvet. It went from warm, rapidly cooling, to _hot_. He scalded his tongue. He realized he was sucking like a baby at Whale's wrist, and he grabbed hold of his arm, his grip suddenly strong.

It was about then that Whale began to struggle with him. Jefferson could see. He opened his eyes... colors were overly vivid, saturated, but he could see. Whale, his expression still one of panic, tried to pull his arm away.

"Enough." he snarled. " _Enough_!"

Even then, Jefferson was pretty sure it would never be enough. He was melting. He was scorched. Whale shook him off, and he staggered backwards. He yelped... fading sunlight at his back was shockingly painful. In a hunched scuttle, he moved back into the shadows with Whale, and - growling, demanding - he said, "I want to do it again."

　

　

　

　

 


	2. Bloodplay

He'd known Whale, who he was. They had a past, long ago and far away. In Storybrooke, he was familiar with him from the hospital, the medical community. The guy - always a little weird looking, but once normal-ish - who wore a lab coat and spewed medical jargon. For some reason he tended to look ironic or sarcastic as he did so. As if he didn't quite believe himself.

Though Jefferson knew him, he didn't _know_ him. And there was no reason for Whale to know Jefferson, beyond their business dealings in the pre-Curse past. He was a hide-your-scar, don't-go-to-the-doctor sort of guy. And all of this time, Grace had been Paige... other people took her for check-ups or soothed her fevers.

So... there they were. Two people who didn't really know one another, bound by blood. Really, Whale should give up practicing foul eloquence on Regina and just start picking off the whole lot of heroes and villains. Well, maybe not the Dark One. Jefferson had a soft spot.

But... those people. Self important, overly dramatic and fixated on pasts that included castles and staff. Please.

"You think Regina's a thieving quim," he said, rolling to his side. "You should meet her mother."

Looking interested, Whale said, "And you have?"

"She's the one who gave me my scar."

Whale was fascinated with his scar. It tickled the doctor-turned-mad-scientist in him. Jefferson had an affinity for madness.

" _Really_? I guess that _does_ make her worse than Regina. A Hella Bitch."

"Oh..." Jefferson sighed. "Yep." Though.... both could be cruel.

He and Whale had come to a sort of routine. Something like a structure was forming of their days and nights. Each, now, had an instinct to hunt. To kill. To feed. However, they lived in a small town, and one of its many quirks was that no one could leave. Unless they stumbled onto a portal someone left laying around. People going missing would be quickly noticed... no one in Storybrooke was transient. Given the growing hunger they both felt, the town would be cleaned out in no time.

Whale, in extreme moderation, filched from the blood bank. They traded off buying animal blood at the butcher's shop, trying to keep quantities in numbers that seemed passably, if gruesomely culinary. And, a few times a month, especially in the dark of the moon, they went into the woods and hunted. Not people... usually they took down a deer, which was no small accomplishment. It grieved Jefferson that he couldn't tell people about it. Sometimes it was more like opossums or rabbits, but still... bare handed and motivated primarily by scent... it was a fairly badass manoeuver.

As Jefferson had suspected, it was never enough. Because they were now made to be finely attuned to humans, to their various scents and the escalation of pulse, heartbeat; the chemical cocktail of fear, arousal, vulnerability; they were made to overpower humans, to drink them down in a hot, sexual excitement... well, there was always _craving_.

Whale pronounced their current diet "nutritionally sound". The little blood bank supplement kept them from going completely bonkers, but it never fully satisfied. Even when they learned to warm the blood up, sometimes taking it with something spicy - just for a flush to the undead skin, a sting at the lips - it was still a ghost of the aggressive thing for which they both hungered. They were fed, but they wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jefferson walked to Whale's bedroom, drawn by a scent. Blood oranges and... sex? He paused... maybe he shouldn't go in. He'd come to practically live at Whale's place, going home only when Grace was to be there... he'd become different, wanting to be around his own kind rather than his usual mode of being alone.

Whale's bedroom door was wide open, and Jefferson came to stand in it, the effect of what he saw oddly soporific, in spite of the sudden rush within his body. Yes; sex. Whale was in his messy bed with a splay-legged, stark naked woman, fucking her. The image was a shock to the senses, to the system... almost a literal, electric shock. Whale's body, so pale, driving... that was a shock, too.

How could Whale bear it, Jefferson wondered? Even from the doorway, he scented the woman's blood. Her skin was hot, putting off heat in her arousal, her climb to orgasm. She was flushed, the blood close to the surface of her skin, multiple pulse points throbbing... even between her legs, where Whale's hips pistoned, the scent of blood pooled and escalated... it suffused her clit and the needy tissue clamping onto Whale. Jefferson thought he might collapse in the doorway, the struggle between hunger, arousal and denial causing overload. A mental break, such as he was overly familiar with.

He started to back away; unseen, he was certain. But, he should have known, not unscented. Whale slowed his movements and turned his head. He _smiled_. Fangy and beaming.

"Jefferson." he said, buoyant.

Jefferson froze, his eyes shifting to the woman. She seemed remarkably unsurprised. She was pretty... a dark haired, dark eyed thing... her eyes showed the drugged, sleepy yet highly aroused state in which he found himself. Her wide-open pupils made her dark eyes even darker, doe-like, which jolted him with a vision of himself and Whale, blood-driven and infected, bodily taking down a deer, making her blood spurt. Now the stuff of his dreams.

The woman, dreamier and less cheerfully alert than Whale, smiled at him. Her hips never stopped a slow rocking against Whale's.

 _Gods_. First vampirism, now this? He'd never been a part of such exhibitionism, voyeurism before.

"This is Layla." Whale said, nearly chuckled; and his amused expression showed that an adolescent evoking of _getting laid_ wasn't lost on him. "She indicated to me that she has a serious need, and it would likely take more than one man to get the job done."

Oh. So... not _just_ show and tell. But... did Whale plan to feed? Jefferson was nearly drooling with need of Layla's blood. It overrode even want of her pussy. Feeling as though he was at an encounter group, he said, "Hi, Layla." He was robotic; stiff, wide-eyed.

Her smile grew wider, and she said, "Hi."

Whale pulled out of Layla, and Jefferson found himself staggering to the bed. He couldn't help it... he had to sit down. It was too much. Whale, on his knees, sitting back on his heels.... his cock was standing out, long and trying to angle up to his belly... and he was _bloodied_. Cock and balls, inner thighs, lower belly, matted in his pubic hair... no wonder the scent was so strong. The blood scent, so tangled with sex, hot-red musk... it was all over.

Layla, very uninhibited, kept her legs open. Her fingers played between them, a soft touch to her clit. She was bloodied as well. It was on the bed. Jefferson felt like he might roll in it. To Layla, Whale said, "He's cute, right? Wook at da baby face."

Still smiling, Layla made a purring sound. Or a yummy sound. She said, "Your friend tells me you two have a weird kink. Bloodplay?"

Jefferson looked at her, speechless. Then he looked at Whale, who grinned. Maniac. Genius. He'd brought home another supplement to their diet, and it was _so much_ better than the blood bank.

"How... how did this conversation even _happen_?" Jefferson stammered.

With a small laugh, Layla said, "A tampon fell out of my purse. Victor picked it up."

Yeah, okay. Except, Jefferson felt sure, Whale had already scented her time of the month. He must have scented an odd sort of arousal as well, to broach the topic. Or he was just unbelievably ballsy.

"Go ahead." Whale said, suddenly husky voiced. "Have a taste."

Layla made a subtle tilting of her hips, waiting, fingers still playing. Jefferson felt as if his eyes would roll back in his skull. _Oh, yes... we're all mad here_. Layla's body, her eyes said, _eat me, drink me_. She was both Wonderland and Goblin Market. _Make much of me_. Almost equally alluring was Whale's cock, bloody and putting off its own heat. The madness in his eyes was so... relatable.

"Best get undressed." Layla said. "You don't want to get blood on your... very fine clothes." Her face was unreadable; her scent was easy to read.

For a moment, Jefferson couldn't move. Then he was in a frenzy of movement, he was in high gear. He didn't even care about the scar. Boots were pushed off; scarf, jacket, waistcoat... he wore so much clothing. Layers. He felt like he always needed protection, armor... it created a barrier of invisibility. Now he only wanted naked flesh, as naked as Layla and Whale. Which left him highly visible. Exposed.

Being naked in front of Whale made him blush. That was odd.

Stretched on his belly, he licked blood from Layla's thighs, moaning aloud as it sent a flooding of chemicals to both brain and cock. Getting closer, he felt the rush again.... heat and pulsing, the feeling of it like a fast flow of liquid down his spine, pooling and beginning to boil at his tailbone, a tickle beneath his balls. Cock throbbing, his hips began to grind to the bed. Heat flared and tingled at the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands. It bloomed, a painful feeling of opening at his chest.

He pressed his lips to Layla's fingers, then sucked them. He sniffed and licked about her folds, testing and tasting in a dog-like manner. Then, on its own, his jaw stretched, his mouth opened wide. He thrust his tongue inside of her. Things got crazy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was like a drug trip... it _had_ to be. Jefferson had never done drugs; aware of the wretched state of his brain, he rarely even drank. But this... this blending of sex and blood, the sensory overload and the presence of Whale - who had made him into this needy, headily sensitized thing - it had to be a drug trip.

He lost any real sense of sequence, seeming - at times - to be elsewhere. There were moments that were out of body, when he had no idea where he was. Was that vampire madness... his own madness? He was off in a hurtling darkness, or dreaming of a really unsettling tea party... rabbits and wolves and what-not in attendance, Whale at the head of the table, all smiles, drinking from a delicate cup with pinkie held aloft.

And then, at intervals, he was completely in his body. He felt every inch of his skin, highly sensitive and aware of his own voice as he moaned. He moaned, he cried out... he grunted and groaned and begged. Pleaded.

He felt Whale's hand gripped in his hair, moving his head up and down, a see-saw counter to the rise and fall of Layla's hips. He kept his tongue out, licking and drinking, greedy to the point of not really caring how Layla felt. He gulped her down, his body writhing.

It was noisy when he was present... his voice, Layla's hitching breath and almost shrieks... Whale, sometimes laughing. He moaned as well... he said, _good boy, Jefferson. That's a good boy._ Pleasure in his voice. Drugged, like the rest of them.

Jefferson was again in a dark place, a vision of what might have been the cells of his body permeating the darkness. A rush of glowing red, encased in darkness. A buzzing and a singing in his body's interior.

Then, fleeting moments... excruciating pleasure and visions that were so pornographic, he almost couldn't look at them directly. Whale getting Layla to her hands and knees, eating her out from behind, his own bloodied fingers trailing along Whale's spine. A crazed moment when Jefferson couldn't stop licking blood from Whale's face, wolf greeting wolf... he fell into darkness again, kissing Whale, and Layla's voice was a tinkling sort of laugh; _oh, I see how it is_...

She wanted Jefferson to fuck her from behind, and she wanted Whale's long cock in her mouth. After the kissing, which had come as one of many shocks to Jefferson, she said, "Lick him clean for me, sugar. I'm not the blood fetishist, here."

That's me, Jefferson thought. I'm _Sugar_. Once upon a time, he'd been sweet. His eyes met Whale's, and he saw the hunger that often marked them. Naked, desperate. He felt his lips part with his own hunger, and maneuvered himself to get to Whale's cock.

He lost time, sense of himself. Returned, he felt Whale's hand in his hair. Again. It was fisted there, and he was licking Whale clean. As requested. Whale breathed hard, Layla cooed; his witness, her fingers touched his lips. He was coming unhinged. He licked the blood from Whale's cock like licking an ice cream cone... then he sucked. He closed his eyes, unable to stop his moans, muffled by the silky, yet solid intrusion. Salt, saline, sex... his tongue pressed to pulsing vein and flesh made hard with blood. His head, held somewhat stable by Whale, bobbed up and down. He felt himself drooling as he struggled to suck... to get more of the heat, the sueded, muscled feeling at lips and tongue.

Whale began thrusting, and Layla said, " Okay, slow down... I'm not done with you two, yet."

His next awareness was fucking Layla. Maybe it was the blood, her time... her pussy was hotter, more swollen than anyone he'd felt before. Her muscles sometimes squeezed, sometimes fluttered. She bore back against him, meeting his thrusts. He gripped her hips, staring - hypnotized - from the view of his cock moving in and out of her, to the view of Whale, at her head, rocking into her mouth. There came a point when they locked eyes, and Jefferson felt it like a bolt going through his body. He was so over-the-top aroused, so completely high on Layla's blood, he thought he might throw his head back and howl. Scream. He felt the scream, hyper and making hysteria in his chest, battering to get out.

Whale's vampire paleness revealed nothing of the internal rushing and heat that Jefferson felt... all of the blood at the surface of Whale's skin was literal. His mouth was painted with it... it smeared over chin and jaw.... it might be matted in his hyperactively blonde hair. Handprints and smears marked his torso, and Jefferson hungered after all of it.

His own hands left marks, red to rust, on Layla's skin. She was so much less pale than he and Whale. She was a buttery-peach color, not really tanned or dark-toned... yet between the two of them, she was dusky and exotic. Her skin showed the blushes and flushing that he felt with such intensity... color bloomed between her shoulder blades, crept towards the small of her back. He wished to see her face as she took in Whale's cock... the strain of her jaw, the reddening of her cheeks.

As his eyes locked to Whale's, the three bodies seemed to fall into a steady rhythm. Layla was soft-bodied, but a bow of tension between them. She whimpered; her pussy squeezed tighter and tighter to Jefferson, making him grit his teeth. He couldn't stop looking at Whale; chilly eyes gone darker with cresting desire... red painted over white skin. His hips pistoned as he watched Whale do the same, his hands in Layla's hair... evoking, for Jefferson, the feel of Whale's long-fingered hands in his own hair; caressing, directing.

Jefferson felt himself draw up, as tight and tense as Layla, the heat of his insides becoming unbearable. Whale's head tipped back, throat exposed... with the sight of his closing eyes and parting lips, Jefferson's vision went dark. Pleasure erupted at his pelvic floor and flooded outward, rushing into and then quivering his limbs. He gripped tight to Layla... in her climax, she let go of Whale. He took up her rhythm with his hand, and - for a moment - Jefferson was able to focus. His eyes greedily took in the fast motion of Whale working himself, then Layla's tight squeeze pulled him under. It rushed through him again, the flooding, and he crumpled onto her, hips juttering, his body gratefully spilling out as his voice rang out, hoarse and ragged.

　

　

　

　

 


	3. Brother

Whale told Layla she could stay, but she said she had to get home. While she showered, Jefferson lay splayed on the destroyed bed, useless and deeply sated. Whale lay propped on his side, fingers playing in the blood on Jefferson's abdomen. It was mostly dried... it lifted in flakes.

"How is it you have some color?" Whale asked.

Jefferson's ear trained to the bathroom. Water still ran.

"What do you mean? I'm as pale as you."

"You are. But my lips... my nipples are like a non-color. Yours look more rosy than before you turned."

Eyes closed, Jefferson made a kissy face. "I'm just pretty that way."

"Hm. Brat."

It was a strange, transitioning sort of feeling. Whale's fingers on his belly... their naked bodies, fucked out, laying next to one another. Whale's fingers rose to his neck, lightly tracing over the scar.

"I love this."

"Freak."

"Aw, be nice. I did good for you tonight. Didn't I? Come on. Who's your daddy?"

Barely opening his eyes, Jefferson took in one glimpse of smug, Von Trapp-ish face before his eyes closed, heavily, again.

"Well, I guess that would be you. My big, weird, perverted daddy."

"Right on, brother. Your use of the word 'big' is inspired. And titillating."

Jefferson snorted. It was his usual, low-key laugh; a huff through the nose. Snobbish. Sometimes it turned into a throaty chuckle. The feeling; his body's memory of kissing Whale, sucking him, revisited his cells. He shifted his hips, easing an ache that wanted to wake, low in his belly.

Scar out, cock out... nothing was hidden.

He heard the water turn off, the plumbing cease its hyperbolic announcement. With great effort, he rolled to his belly. He felt himself growing aroused again, yet also felt that - in moments - he might be snoring.

Whale's fingers played at his scar, now tracing over the completeness with which it encircled his neck. His permanent choker. The fingers at the back of his neck were warm, searching. They moved into his hair.

"Cute butt." Layla's voice said.

Jefferson grunted, but couldn't open his eyes. He may have flexed a buttock. One cheek was slapped, which made him flex again. He was pretty sure the slap came from Whale.

"You wore him out, Layla."

" _You_ seem perky."

"Nah. I'm pretty spent, too. I'm just a little hyper. By nature. We've both been ridden hard and put away, wet."

"So I see."

Jefferson slitted open his eyes. He barely recognized Layla.... She'd recently been mythical. The warm and open sprawl of her nakedness, full and rounded and inviting; her hair unbound, her eyes far away, in trance. Entranced. She who let him eat sorrows, taking nourishment. Brow furrowing, he realized he hadn't kissed her.

She had changed from myth to woman. Or, she was a woman, after all. Her lovely, long, dark hair was pulled back in a sensible way, damp tendrils and frizzies about her face. She wore dark trousers and a blazer; Whale must have picked her up right after work. The voluptuous rounding that was so alluring in her nakedness was a touch chubby in clothes... still... she was pretty, sexy and... strange. How had Whale understood that she would be open to two such as themselves? Nothing about her regular woman appearance suggested it.

"You sure you want to leave, sweetheart?" Whale asked.

She wrinkled her nose. She said, " Yeah... I've got to get home. And you two need to shower and change the sheets... Outside of the heat of the moment, the blood is kind of... icky."

Well, yes. Non-mythical, modern woman. Bra and maybe knee-highs under her clothes. A sensible heel. But Jefferson couldn't help his welling gratitude... that she'd welcomed him, fed him. She'd taken away some of the hurtful emptiness that The Change had rendered of his insides.

Whale got up, study of nude male in white and red. Jefferson croaked out a parting farewell, but couldn't move. He heard Layla say, _we'll do it again_ , and Whale - escorting her downstairs - said, _oh, yes indeed, sweetheart_.

Jefferson might have slept for a few seconds. The earlier shock and the way the blood had drugged him was still at work in his body, his brain. His poor brain. He slipped, quite suddenly, into his tea party dream. It was ridiculous... he sat on Whale's lap. He was dressed to the nines; waistcoat, fitted jacket, cravat, top hat... he was a vision of muted paisley, silken thread and metallic floss, leather and flowers that were redolent of sex. He scented the blood musk at their fiery cores.

Whale was stark naked, skin and hair all but disappearing into the white-out sunlight, such as he could no longer bear to feel warming his back. The blue of his eyes, his wide smile was so ghostly... perhaps he was actually the Cheshire cat.

He drank blood from a porcelain cup of pure, unblemished white. His big smile showed fangs. Around the table, all was chaos. Wolves got mud and debris on the tablecloth with their big, ungainly paws. A crow, the size of a raccoon, muttered into the teapot... it demonstrated how it could drop stones into the tea, raising the water level, so it might reach the soggy bit of fruitcake someone dropped therein.

"For science!" Whale said, loudly. He lifted his cup and toasted the crow.

Rabbits, horned and hooved fauns, some of Regina's old, bramble-headed guard in black, the odd glimmer of gossamer wing or flash of pastel tutu... all sorts were there and were rowdy, up and dancing, or otherwise pontificating. The table moved about; Ogres were doing unthinkable things beneath it.

Whale drank down his cup of blood and tossed the emptied, stained cup over his shoulder. Then his hands were on Jefferson's face. Jefferson felt his lips smooshed into a pucker, as if an auntie squeezed his cheeks. Whale stole the top hat and placed it on his own head... black on white. Red stained lips. The hat made Whale's nakedness all the more rakish, and Jefferson felt the jump, the stir of Whale's cock, beneath him. The table jumped as well... the crowd cheered and a well dressed mouse, a dandy, scurried for cover under a toppled saucer.

"You need some bleeding heart in your bouquet." Whale murmured. "It's a blood wedding, after all."

　

Jefferson's eyes opened as he felt the weight of Whale's body, crawling up the bed. Colors still flashed behind his eyes, noise was in his head. He must have been under for only a moment, but the dream seemed lengthy and whole, textured and maybe ongoing. As if the party was always ongoing. He felt fully aroused, his dream role of blushing bride on the lap of his freaky, naked groom spurring a pressure in his groin... part hard cock and part uncomfortable bladder.

There was another slap to his butt, and he shifted his hips.

"Well, now. Aren't you a surprise, Sleeping Beauty?" Whale said.

Jefferson wanted to roll over. To study the naked stranger/friend beside him, who had the handsome features of sculpted cheekbones, chiseled jaw and strong chin, and yet sometimes had the effect of looking like a praying mantis. But he didn't want to reveal his arousal, which, riding the tide Layla had begun, was blood-infused and obvious.

He shifted again, turning his head and one knee to face Whale. "How so?" he murmured, voice thick with tea party dreams.

"How so. You keep yourself all wrapped up, chin to toes. That chubby-cheeked baby-face and round ass never led me to believe you'd be so... ripped. Do you have a gym in that mansion of yours?"

Jefferson smiled. Years of hunger. Followed by years of running and fighting. Followed by the removal and reattachment of one head, as unlikely as that seemed. The crazy could easily forget to eat... manic phases of pacing and repetitive motion. Confine them, set them to an impossible task, and eventually they'll go between sleep, dream and doing the odd push-up. Extremes of lethargy and exertion.

So, no. Not exactly a gym.

"Are you saying you like my body, Victor?" He made his voice deep and seductive, though touched with humor.

Whale didn't answer, but the long, physician's fingers were back at his scar. It was a little unnerving.

"This reminds me of my monster." Whale said, quietly.

With an internal jump of surprise, Jefferson thought... oh. Right. Of course. And, very nearly, _duh_. Pieces and parts, sewn together. Whale had taken a loose interpretation of the Hippocratic Oath... one had to assume that 'Harm none' mainly applied to the living.

"The one you needed the heart for?" Jefferson asked.

"That's the one. Well, there were a few, but only one that took." With a heavy sigh, he added, "He was a poetic soul... He called himself my fallen angel. The Adam of my labors. He hated me for making him."

Jefferson felt his breathing stall out a bit. Whale's hand moved up and down his back. His mouth, blood scented, and yet -like leopards - Jefferson had found that their predator breath could put out a scent like sweet violets, meant to calm and lure prey, was open and kissing along the scar. Fangs grazed at his neck.

Are we going to talk about this, Jefferson wondered? Would they discuss the new diversions of kissing and cock sucking, the slapping of naked ass? A lively debate regarding boundaries within bromance and the hypothesis that all vampires are gay? Or were they just going to fall into these behaviors, no preamble?

At his ear, Whale murmured, "Do you hate me for making you, Jefferson?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the start, he'd wondered if he hated Whale.

Though used to living alone, he was not unfamiliar with having a snit. Making a scene. In your face, thou who hast harmed me. A dramatic spillage of angst and bile, high strung and sometimes entertaining... he knew how to flounce and stomp. It could feel good, re-opening wounds and letting demons leap out.

He'd thought of allowing such a loosening of self control around Whale. To vent, therefore to happily befoul the air. Yet he'd said it all before, at different times and to different people. You used me, you ruined my life. You killed me, yet I am not dead! You, you, you... the selfish, the needy, the pathological. He was weary of it.

Plus, having been transformed in Whale's mouth, in the mouth of the Whale, he understood. He understood bodily, no explanation required. Newly made, Whale would have been little more than animal senses and desperate hunger when Jefferson found him. He wouldn't have regained a true part of himself until he'd fed, and then - to his horror - he'd found he'd nearly killed a man. A man he knew.

He wasn't able to let Jefferson die. Well, not in a traditional sense that one considers final.

Jefferson thought he might have done the same, made the same decisions at all points. Had Whale not been there to herd him, sticking to shadows and stalking the blood bank, he would have grabbed at any unfortunate passer-by. He would have left a trail of husks.

Even though they'd found it wasn't sustaining, Whale let him bite into his neck, suckle at him, as with a pacifier, when he thought he was going mad. More so.

He rolled over, allowing Whale to witness the uproarious state of his cock and make of it what he would.

"I don't hate you, Victor."

Pale eyes moved over his body, his long sprawl. They were each of a height and of an age. Pretty well matched. Whale's eyes came back to his, his expression calm and deep.

"Well, well." he said. His hand moved down Jefferson's torso. Fingers walked his lower belly and caused a trembling. Ruddy cock, on its own, followed the fingers. "What's this, brother?"

Jefferson's eyes closed, lips parted. He took a sharp breath, feeling a roll of his hips, a wave of angst.

 _Brother_. He thought he might be _in brother_ with Whale... it felt incestuous. He liked hanging out with him, after so much time alone. He liked watching the newish onslaught of monster movies and shows, and having Whale point out which bits of science might be stretched to allow for such things, and which bits were just pure rubbish. Vampirism put a new spin on what was known and accepted in the world of science and medicine. And Jefferson, of course, could add what he knew of magic.

More recently, he had enjoyed hanging out with Whale in the presence of a naked, bleeding woman.

"It's.... " Jefferson struggled for what to say. It was fairly self-evident. Wasn't this man a doctor?

Whale's hand encircled his cock, palm making a slow, teasing stroke, fingers light and sensitive, moving to the head. Jefferson gasped at a little, piercing agony of pleasure. He said, "It's _that_. Exactly that."

"Mm hm." Whale said, seeming to observe with interest. He leaned down, blood-violet scented lips pressed softly to Jefferson's. They shared breath, quiet enough that Jefferson heard a faint hum of electric something-or-other, and a slow, echo-filled plop of dripping water in the bathroom.

Jefferson murmured, "Will we be discussing this?"

"Discussing?"

Whale leaned back. His hand remained a warm fondle, but he gave Jefferson his sideways, bird-man look. His brow held a note of doubt.

"What would you like to discuss?"

"Well." Jefferson considered. " We weren't like this, before. Remember? With the hat? We were normal-ish guys in unusual circumstances."

"I was working on animating a corpse harvested from multiple bodies, and you were operating as a magic-centric merc for the Dark One. At what point were we normal?"

"Well, okay. But we weren't doing _this_."

Whale did something sneaky and insinuating with his fingers, and Jefferson's eyelashes fluttered. His feet flexed.

"Things change." Whale murmured, his mouth returning, a warm nuzzle of lips. "Do you want this to stop?"

"No." Jefferson said. He would say he would die if it stopped, but he'd become hard to kill. There were advantages to the new life.

Inappropriate to the moment, he thought of the Dark One; Rumpelstiltskin in his glory days, his once employer. The days when Jefferson procured a heart for Whale, which now seemed kind of funny. He missed that Rumpel, all unpredictable giggles and violence. He'd felt bad that he wasn't able to get the ruby slippers for him... but he could never shake the image in his head of the Dark One utilizing their magic. One would assume he'd have to _wear_ them...

Whale's kiss intensified, bringing Jefferson back with force. Even without Layla's blood on his lips and tongue, Jefferson felt himself getting keyed-up, overwrought. He moaned when Whale's tongue touched his, opening his mouth wider. He reached to touch, to grab.

Whale said, "Mmm... that's right, baby."

Jefferson opened his eyes. His nose-huff, snob-snort came out. He couldn't help it.

"What?" Whale asked.

"Really? You don't think it's kind of weird to call me 'baby' ?"

Sleepy-eyed, Whale said, "It won't seem weird once I've fucked you."

A shiver, a jolt of hot pleasure rippled through Jefferson, but he, nevertheless, raised a sarcastic brow.

Smiling, his tight smile that made his cheekbones sharp, Whale said, "That's right, brother. I said it. I meant it. I'm here to represent it."

Jefferson flung an arm out. His sarcastic brow became a full-on eye-roll; his exasperation was complete. He said, "Oh my god. You're so stupid. I can't believe you ever became a physician."

Still smiling, fingers wicked between Jefferson's legs, Whale said, " Well, you know. Standards back then weren't quite the standards of today." His fingers crept lower. "Some of us slipped in between the... cracks."

　

　

 


	4. Hunger

 

 

There was discussion. As Jefferson was uncertain that he wanted to escalate to that _next level_ with Whale, what with still adjusting to the vampire lifestyle and so forth, there was a lot of discussion.

His sire seemed quite keen to move past a semi-parental role and get on with the fucking. It was kind of shocking; Jefferson was in shock. There were clinical explanations of how Whale would keep him comfortable and pleasured throughout the experience... notions and potions that both numbed and heightened. The gallant courtesies of a considerate lover. Discussions regarding squeamishness and hygiene. _I'm in medicine, for crying out loud. Not that I suspect you and I need fear germs, at this point_.

There was an anatomical drawing of male bits, inside and out, a disturbing bisection.

"See?" Whale pointed to something like a walnut, wedged, in an unspecific way, just in front of a wall of the rectum. The final descent, the start of the great plunge. "That's the prostate. " he said, and Jefferson wondered why it would set up shop in so unlikely a place.

Insinuating and wicked without even trying, Whale traced a forefinger along the bisected rectum, a sort of marshmallow tube with a little chute at the end. Oddly, it followed repeating patterns found in nature... like snails shells, feathers, ripples of water... Whale said, "It gets stimulated from the inside. It's said to be highly pleasurable." Said with a raised brow, a resigned sigh, as if... _hey, if we could do it any other way, brother_....

This was news. Tilting his head at the drawing, a bit mystified by the purpose of the ignominiously named _gland_ , Jefferson said, " I thought the guy on the bottom was just being polite."

Whale bird-eyed him. "Well. I don't know... maybe that's part of it. A sort of hand shake. But it's a thing, Jefferson. A technical thing people have figured out over the years... like clits and oral sex and the proposed existence of a G-Spot. It's not just gay men... although maybe they were the pioneers. Women are finding ways to stimulate men. And, as the pornography industry will demonstrate with aggrandizing aplomb, men doing women up the butt is quite the popular item."

"Yeah, but..." Jefferson considered. "Surely _that's_ just women being polite. They don't even have prostates." He frowned, glanced at Whale. " Right?"

"They do not." Whale confirmed. " I can't be sure of the motives of women, whether or not it feels good to them. My current research has been mostly confined to men receiving anal sex."

Jefferson made a face. Did he want to be a part of a discussion where he was the recipient of something _anally_? Was he to become part of Whale's research? And why wasn't Whale a candidate?

With a chin lift, nose in the air, he presented Whale with a look of mild contempt and a sound of _harrumph_. He exited the room. He tried not to run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whale left a video cued up on his laptop. It was gay porn, but it was meant to be semi-instructive and educational. It was thoroughly embarrassing. There was soft lighting, soft music, naked men with shaved bodies, ( Jesus, even their balls), who were generically good-looking and completely bland. It was like watching Charming romance himself. A tasteful, London-ish voice over, also soft - so as not to be intrusive? - explained just what the devil was going on between the two metrosexuals.

For awhile, Jefferson watched through fingers splayed over his face, as if watching a horror movie. He was constantly nervous as to what was coming next. When the men, hairless but off-puttingly jock-like, began to moan, he was forced to turn the sound off. He couldn't help it... they were like emoting apes. It was a problem, though... now the nice, patient British man could not put him at ease with a narrative. Eventually, he turned the sound back up in small increments.

Some of what he was seeing was no longer unfamiliar... on his own, though a bit blood-driven, he'd learned various stages of foreplay. He knew the ways a body flushed and both sensitized and desensitized. He'd felt those things, himself... skin alert to fingertips; neck weirdly okay with fangs. He'd observed the same in Whale. The recognition as he watched the video made for empathy... it was making him hard.

Then came the big shebang. He'd been curious as to how the bottom-guy, the receiver was selected. He was waiting for a coin toss; rock, paper, scissors; the drawing of straws, _something_. Maybe they would wrestle for it. Was one guy going to just spontaneously say, "Say, Joe. My prostate could sure use some stimulating."

But, no. There was nothing. Maybe it was all pre-arranged, a sort of contract. The time came, and one guy simply offered up an athletically muscled ass. It was disturbing and kind of upsetting. Jefferson covered his eyes again, peering though his fingers. It was a little much to be confronted with a puckered asshole, a heavy dangle of scrotum... it was 9 fucking 30 a.m. And these men had no hair whatsoever on their bodies... all so startlingly revealed. Look at me, said the blind eye.

What he learned was that lubricant was very important. Its importance could not be overstated. Lubricant, and what seemed to be an excessive amount of time prepping the bottom-guy with fingers, with variously shaped and sized toys... at one point with the top's tongue, which made Jefferson go all shivery for a moment. The thought of Whale doing that to him put him into an unexpected, near-swoon. The swoon battled it out with a knee-jerk spasm of disgust. A cringe at the idea of such exposure. Would he want such a thing? Was it not the height of unsavory and unsanitary behavior? Did such things even matter when one _drank blood_? His cock, not nearly as put off as the rest of him by Graphic Homosexual Sex As Presented By The Hallmark Chanel, seemed game for almost anything. Except the shaving, or waxing... whatever this couple did to make their bodies so dolphin-like.

The guy on the bottom came first, and it happened at a hard-driving point wherein Jefferson realized he was flushed, open mouthed, one palm pressed to his crotch, the other hand at the side of his face, as if he was in a state of amazement. He was glassy eyed and close to salivating... in a twist on his usual sex response, he was empathetic both to the guy who thrust, understanding how it felt, and also to the guy who took it. Watching the face of the bottom-guy as he got close to coming, the blissful, closed eyes and parted lips, Jefferson wondered. Curiosity ran amok, whirling and dervishing. His chest rose and fell, thinking of Whale and wishing he was home.

Corrupting son of a bitch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Whale got home, Jefferson's surge of lust had crested into something altogether different. Less important were the twitchings of cock and pelvis-rollicking wonderings of sensitive and secreted away holes. More important were veins that felt strangled and hot, twisted and hopelessly tangled, a thorny bramble of painful barbed wire. His veins made sparks. His chest cavity had set up a permanent howling, his lips were paled and parched, his eyes hollowed, dark circles beneath. He'd been without human blood since Layla... it was a blood bank day, and Whale was meant to be home _hours_ ago.

Even through the front door, through the thick, hard plastic of the cooler and the flexible, pliable plastic of the blood bag, Jefferson smelled it. He flung open the front door. It was nearly night, Venus like a big star in a sky of deepening twilight, but Whale still wore a broad brimmed hat and a long coat against the cruelty of the sun.

"I'm sorry." Whale said at once, his eyes widening at the sight of Jefferson's pale, fever-eyed and hectic-mouthed visage. "A surgery ran long. I couldn't leave."

Jefferson nodded, speech pared down to grunts and vague gestures. His eyes locked onto the cooler, and he followed Whale to the kitchen, close at his heels. A very good dog. Whale's hat and coat dropped to the tiled floor, puddles of black. He wore loose, pale green scrubs. Black- nearly grey - high top sneakers, soles worn to treadless, thin rubber. Jefferson scented everything... hospital scents both chemical and sickly, both making his skin crawl; the harsh, antibacterial and antiseptic soap that lingered on Whale from fingertips nearly to his shoulders. A pale ghost of cologne that was ocean and cold, cold moon.

More than anything, he smelled the blood. Raw meat, yes; metal. But to his newer senses it was also dark roses, crushed violets and plum. Crimson musk, fire and even chocolate. It was pure need. He'd gone helpless, standing like one of Whale's revenants, hunched and hands wringing. He might squawk like a baby bird, vocally fighting for his share, possibly willing to sit on the head of a sibling to get it. Or boot the sibling right out of the nest.

Whale's lips were pale; ice-frosted, ballet pink-white. His lips were cracked. His eyes, his face looked tired and worn, pale and wan, and yet he was considerably more functional than Jefferson. He must have had a nip on the job, Jefferson thought... he could hardly be blamed. Jefferson tried to imagine something like _surgery_... the complexity, the responsibility.... all of the _blood_ , just swimming around, obscuring the visibility of organs and whatnot. Had it been himself in the OR, he might have dived directly into the hapless patient, rousing an immediacy of pitchforks and torches.

Usually blood bank night was rather celebratory. There were special mugs; white, with red heart symbols, courtesy of the cardiac unit. Blood was heated up in the microwave. There might be spicy food or a chaser of red wine. Sometimes Whale brought home a rented movie.

As it stood, all that could happen was the opening of the cooler. Whale held a bag aloft, and - without so much as a kiss or a 'hi, honey' - Jefferson bit into the bag. The plastic, its cold feel and smell, didn't matter. Nor the awful, frigid, strange texture of the blood. Platelets once frozen. He had to feed.

Whale watched him for a moment, eyes glassy and tranced-out, then he bit into the other side of the bag and they both sucked like demon babies. They made a steady growl, breathing hard through noses, the growl - almost a moan, wounded - escaping on each exhalation. It was chest deep, made of hunger, pain and relief.

The norm was one bag. On this evening they consumed two. As soon as they'd killed the first, Whale lifted another from the cooler. They'd both calmed, somewhat. The sucking was more quiet, concentrated. Jefferson felt himself warming, a flush moving over and through his body. He moved closer to Whale, gravitating to his increasing body heat. Whale's hand came to the back of his head, gripping his hair, fingers flexing convulsively to his skull.

Too quickly, the bag flattened out between them. With renewed strength, Whale ripped it open and they licked the inside clean. He retrieved the first from the sink and they did the same... gutted, bone-picked bags.

_Finally_. Jefferson felt as if his vision cleared, his mind made some sense. He drew breath without wracking pain. His heart, his chest felt normal-ish; his veins returned to going more or less unnoticed.

"That was cutting it close." he breathed.

"Don't I know it, brother. I'm sorry."

Jefferson shook his head. Not your fault, he thought to say... although, in the big picture, he supposed it was. But then there was an even bigger picture, and - no - it wasn't Whale's fault.

There was still something ragged, edgy happening in his body. Some predatory thing that was as deep as the cell-true need for blood, as one needs oxygen. He looked at Whale, whose color was better.

... He had a crush. It was so obvious, it triggered another stab of pain at his sternum. Sometimes he thought Whale looked almost ordinary. Dr. Whale, sneakers soft on hospital floors, brow wrinkled, focused on data. He could be a dad, a guy buying groceries. Someone who wore a watch and paid bills and tended to laundry. A regular guy, standing at the pump at a gas station.

At other moments, such as standing - wretched and chest heaving - in a stark kitchen, coming to his senses in a slow and tingling way, he could be a skinny Roy Batty from Blade Runner. If anything, somehow even more bizarre and ghostly than Roy Batty... for his eyes were mad and alight and full of intelligence and poetry when he smiled.

The growl not quite purged from his chest, Jefferson panted, "Victor, I need to _bite_."

Nodding, Whale said, "Yeah, brother. Okay."

He pulled Jefferson into an embrace, offering the white, statuesque column of his neck. Allowing. These days, Whale was covering up almost as much as Jefferson... scarves, turtlenecks, hoodies. He had an array of elaborate hickies, bruised and reddened.

Jefferson bit; his fangs sank into the offered flesh, and Whale's moan made him rushingly, urgently hard. Other thoughts, more playful and less dire than the fierce drive for blood, came capering back on imp legs, dancing imp dances. He pressed close, embracing, hands moving up under the scrub top. His fingernails scratched lightly over Whale's back, the sensitive, patterned skin of his fingers feeling over muscle and bone, the new warmth of his back.

How odd, that his fangs had _need_. They had to penetrate, or he went a little nuts. More so. Once they felt the puncture, flesh hot against his lips and tongue, they eased their ache. They sort of retracted. He licked over the abused vein, and tilted his head... allowing for Whale's need, his bite.

It came, hurtful and blissful all at once, Whale's growl guttural and pained. It was also a gluttonous sound of feeding the starving... his mouth moved at Jefferson's neck with a sound of, _mmf, mmmf_ , and Jefferson felt his eyes roll back in his head. His hands gripped to Whale's back, leaving bruises. His toes curled in his boots, making him unsteady; he leaned heavily into Whale.

Then they were only holding each other up, heads resting on shoulders, catching breath.

"I need to get the rest on ice." Whale said.

Jefferson nodded. Yes, it was precious. Dear. But he couldn't let go.

　

 


	5. Boys Keep Swinging

 

In Storybrooke, there was really no nighttime spot, save for The Rabbit Hole. The name was thorny to Jefferson; it made him want to hop onto the 'thieving quim' band-wagon. That bitch. She'd taken Grace from him twice, and now he was almost scared to be around his daughter. What if he got hungry? A child might start to look like easy prey. He was a more wacked out, strange dad than ever, wearing ball caps and sunglasses, hoodies against the sun, his new enemy. Grace must think he looked like the Unabomber.

Still, The Rabbit Hole it was, cabin fever setting in and prompting he and Whale to take their ghoulish, semi-goth, boy-band look out into the world. Jefferson was amused with Whales awareness of their look, for - truly - he was. He contrived and embellished. He was excited by being viewed by others. For Jefferson, who had cultivated invisibility to counteract eccentricity, it was awkward. Whale liked their paired look of narrow legged trouser and boots; Jefferson felt kind of embarrassed by the Wonder Twin presentation.

In the mirror, he had to admit, they were something to behold. It was hard to determine if that something was attractive... he supposed it depended on one's taste. But they were noticeable. Spooky. Light and dark, yet both pale. Ghost men who raided the closets of punk or new wave romantics, Lord Byron and Oscar Wilde, and who required a dark, dub-step soundtrack as they walked down the street, shoulder to shoulder, menacing and mad. This, Jefferson thought, was Whale's vision; and he'd achieved it.

He was glad it was well past Grace's bedtime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hour was late and The Rabbit Hole was becoming emptied, a hollowed-out shell. A few people milled about. The serious drinkers hunkered down at the bar, or at tables long acknowledged as 'theirs'. The wolf-girl, Ruby, was just leaving with the Dark One's girl, Belle, in tow. Belle's eyes moved over he and Whale in a way Jefferson _felt_. He had a panicky moment of - _she knows_! But she couldn't know. Still, it seemed like she knew _something_ , and he looked quickly away from her, moving into darkness.

Whale, perhaps feeling a niggling of his old crush on Ruby, flashed her a wraith smile that made her hurry Belle out the door.

"Don't even." Jefferson muttered. "She's a wolf. Things are different, now. She'd figure you out as a predator in no time."

Whale, lips tucked between his teeth, fingers to chin, gave a considering look and followed Jefferson to the bar. "Lo and behold." he said. His hand lifted from his chin, his fingers opened like a flower.

There was Layla. How many looks did this woman possess, Jefferson wondered? The naked, bloodied, goddess-woman, primal and dark. The conservative, a la Madam Mayor person - perhaps a court stenographer. Now she was a woman who might be in her late twenties or early thirties, or possibly underage and in possession of a fake I.D. It was impossible to tell. Her hair was in two thick, anime- convention knots, high upon her head. There was glitter in her blush of high pink, something metallic in her lipstick of lavender. Her fingernails glimmered silver-grey and matched a slip-like dress of silky silver, metallic thread in the lace. Her boots were black, heavy with buckles.

"It's my boys." she smiled. She was surrounded by a small group of women, all dressed in a similar manner. Various female eyes, made mysterious with eyeliner and false eyelashes, assessed Jefferson. He felt himself blush.

"It's our girl." Whale grinned broadly, arms open.

Layla introduced her friends, and Jefferson remembered not a single name. One might have been Abby Leigh. They all seemed to have a profusion of Ls, so that his tongue wanted constantly to touch against the back of his top row of teeth... Layla, Lola, Lisa, Leigh, Lana, Lily... surely that wasn't the case. Layla introduced he and Whale as 'Jefferson and Victor', and one of the Ls said, "But... aren't you Dr. Whale?"

"I am, indeed."

"But... doesn't the hospital registry have you as James?"

Whale did his lips-tucked-in thing. He made wide eyes, as if seeing the problem L dug up. _Ah_. His lips emerged, and he pouted at Jefferson as if to convey; _bless her_. Is she unfamiliar with the bipolar nature of the Curse?

Jefferson pouted back, having somehow worked out that Whale was unsettled by his mouth. He stage whispered, "Victor is the _other_ one. He has a split personality."

One of them, maybe she was a nurse - or otherwise employed by the hospital - muttered, "That explains some things."

Whale laughed, eyes looking up, then turned to get drinks for himself and Jefferson. He made offers to further inebriate Layla and her Ls, and a few accepted. When he took a seat, he extended an arm, taking Layla's hand and drawing her, so easily, onto his lap. For a moment, Jefferson couldn't breathe. He wasn't sure what he felt... was it jealousy? In part, it was wonder. How could Whale be this person with such ease? He never seemed to lack confidence that Layla would acquiesce to being his ornament. The brittle L didn't trouble him.

Jefferson was aware that the Ls liked looking at him... Layla, in her introduction, said, "Jefferson's the pretty one. Victor's the weird one."

"Hey!" Whale protested. " Sister - I'm _pretty_. Don't hate."

Jefferson just couldn't quite muster the attitude, in spite of the eyes of the Ls confirming his prettiness. He smiled, ducking his head to drink his wine. He marveled at the picture Layla made with Whale, alluring even in the absence of her blood scent. The perfume she wore was a bit heavy... more smoke than floral... it mingled in interesting ways to the scents of the Ls.

Under a dark, fitted jacket, Whale wore a vintage, David Bowie t-shirt. Layla revealed more of it, her silvery fingertips delving beneath the jacket, and then - like magic - Cat People was playing... the eerie, bones on hollowed wood percussion creeping from the speakers and into the murky dark. Looking alert, Whale smiled an open-mouthed, happy smile, dangerously close to fangs. His eyes widened and tilted up to heaven, as though the music floated above him. He held up a forefinger.

"It's the man." he said.

Jefferson smiled, and thought something that felt embarrassingly, nauseatingly like, _I love you._ Maybe it was the blood, which sometimes made things fever-dream muddled, but sometimes it made things sharp. Clear. The red wine, dry and potent and swimming with something like melted, dark chocolate, toyed with the effects of two bags of blood and the sinking of his teeth into Whale. Altogether, it was terribly beguiling.

The Ls, collectively, were bored. Oddities of the male persuasion, apparently to include Bowie, were not among the things they hearted. Jefferson watched them drift apart and break up the gaggle. In pairs and threes, they left. One gave a deep eyed, meaningful look to Layla, but she said, " S 'okay. I'm gonna hang with m'boys."

Abruptly, slightly over his shoulder, Whale hollered, "You can come out when I _say_ you can come out! Daddy's busy."

In the know, though he didn't know how, Jefferson explained, "He's talking to Victor. The other one."

Whale grinned at him. Layla giggled at her friends startled expression, and - presumably to his other self - Whale, conversational, said, " Is that right? Well. How about I go summon up the forces of darkness? Would _that_ make you happy, you bastard?"

Waving her hand at her concerned friend, Layla said, "Really, it's fine. He's just an idiot."

"It's true." Jefferson confirmed, earnest. "He _is_ an idiot."

Looking at Jefferson, evidently having fun playing, Whale lifted his glass and said, "Oz! Bring the pitiful to _me_."

Jefferson shrugged at the L. See? She gave up and left Layla to fend for herself, and - looking pleased to be on her own - Layla curled herself back against Whale.

"You're such a weirdo." she purred, and Jefferson watched her legs part a little as Whale's hand slid from knee to thigh. Obviously, weirdos were her thing. He felt it again... part wonder, part jealousy. It hurt his stomach. Why didn't Layla drape herself over him? Or, on the other hand, what happened to Whale's agenda to plunder his virgin ass? What about his alleged prettiness and inexplicable wealth?

Beginning to feel dour, he watched Layla lean her head back and open her mouth to Whale. He kissed her. Jefferson's aching belly was also an ache at his groin, a smolder at the back of his skull. His gaze lingered on Layla's neck, her veins blue and pronounced in her lean. Her smoky perfume intensified with the heat Whale raised.

Breaking the kiss with a little tease, a glistening tip of pink tongue that made Jefferson shiver, Whale said, "I think Jefferson's lonely."

Oh, well fine. Now he felt like an idiot, standing oafishly with his wine glass and unable to look away. _Don't give it a thought. Don't take pity on me_. He wanted to huff his nose at them; to turn on his heel and saunter away, feeling that at least Whale might have some thoughts regarding his rounded ass in too-tight pants.

Surprising him, Layla stretched out one leg and gently insinuated a leather booted foot between his legs. It was a little shocking, there in the bar. He stared at - quite possibly - Magenta and Riff Raff, both regarding him seductively. There was a soft pressure at his balls and the toe of Layla's boot was naughty at his ass. She hooked him, and pulled him in. Alarmingly, the pull raised her knee, widened the spread of her legs, the silky dress riding up. Jefferson stumbled, but caught himself.

"Can't have that." Layla smiled. She took his wine glass and polished off the dregs, then set it aside. "Miss me?"

Well, yes and no was the truth of the matter. He wasn't yet done enough with the initial shock of her to actually miss her. And meanwhile, there was Whale. But he smiled back, and said, "Desperately." For his desperation was true. He blushed.

She pulled him in for a kiss, and it triggered something deep within him to scent Whale's predator-violet scent, still lingering about her lips. Traces of his tongue, his breath. Layla wrapped her legs around him, and he felt, more than heard, a deep purr come from Whale. It was a little too much. Breaking the kiss, he looked up from Layla. Whale looked at him, that odd mix of classical features and yet undeniable air of peculiarity; bowed upper lip and slightly recessed bottom lip. Please, Jefferson made his lips beg, his eyes heavy. He hurt. In answer, face very sober, Whale kissed him.

Layla sighed. It was clear she liked the way they petted. She pulled Jefferson closer, so that his hands were steadied, high up on her thighs. Whale's hands cupped her breasts... she made a subtle writhing between them, grinding to Jefferson's trapped erection.

Jefferson could barely keep any focus. He was aware of Layla, he wanted her... but his head had gone into a rapidly descending tailspin as Whale kissed him. For a moment, he forgot to be shocked that he let another man kiss him in public... he was too busy, greedily opening his mouth, taking in the taste of wine and of peppermint from Layla's lip gloss, all hot on Whale's tongue. His blood, already put through so much, rose like cricket song; a shrill, long note.

Then he remembered The Rabbit Hole, and he was almost more shocked on Whale's behalf than for himself. People knew him. He was no longer Chief of Staff, having stepped down after the Curse broke, even before and accident of fang. Still, people knew him, be it as physician or womanizer. It had to be out of the ordinary for him to be making out with Jefferson and Layla.

"Me again." Layla said, and a sort of game began, lubricious and debauched, of the three trading kisses. It wasn't quite the drugged feeling brought on by Layla's blood, but it was close. Jefferson felt himself sway on his feet, watching Whale's mouth open on Layla's. They kissed deeply, aggressive, Whale's hand at her jaw. But then they teased... lips barely touching, tongues out, sensitive tip touching to sensitive tip.

Jefferson felt hard enough to be serviceable as a hammer, should some hammerless sap arrive and need help with wayward nails. Then it was his turn with Layla, Whale's hands in his hair. Then his turn with Whale, Layla rubbing herself against him, her panties soaked, the wet heat between her legs completing with Whale's mouth.

Yes, he was hard to kill, now. But surely this was going to do some permanent damage. Frayed and fried nerves, vascular accidents and a lamentation of a body that could suddenly become a shell.... dependent on others for survival.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Whale's living room, Jefferson gave a benediction with his cock. It just happened, as he stood over Whale and Layla, who sat together in a chair, in a naked reenactment of The Rabbit Hole. Jefferson's hand, opportunistic, sneaky thing; not to be trusted; took to stroking his cock, which loomed, gargoyle-like, over the pair. The stroking sort of made a blessing... _I bless you, my children_. Jefferson huff-laughed.

Whale tried to get inside the voluptuous workings of Layla, but they were having technical difficulties. Jefferson's huff was taking a vicissitude into a deep chuckle, and Layla flashed him a look, ruddy faced from struggling with Whale.

"We're not _all_ built like Greek Gods." she said, with a touch of her own huff.

"I'm not laughing at you." Jefferson smiled. "Near you, really. Anyway, I don't think it's you. It's Victor."

"Oh, thanks brother."

"I agree with Jefferson." Layla said.

"This is mutiny."

Jefferson could see the problem. He could be of assistance. How helpful. Leaning over the pair, he said, "Here... Layla. Lean forward, rather than back. Victor's cock is long, and it wants to stick out, rather than up."

Smiling, Whale leaned back in the chair. Hands behind his head, cavalier, he tilted his head at Jefferson. "This is interesting. I think I'll let you take over."

"Thank you, doctor." Jefferson held the base of Whale's cock, and - after his untrustworthy hand slid curious fingers against the heated slickness of Layla's pussy - he directed her backwards.

"Brace yourself on his thighs... slide back."

 _God_ , the pornography. The indecent, lewd and shameless display. Layla dipped at the small of her back, facing away from Whale and angling herself to take Whale's cock. Jefferson watched her slide back, then push forward... leaving Whale slicked and shining. She moaned, getting herself situated and finding a rhythm, and Jefferson's heart stammered all about, his belly hollowed, watching Whale's eyes flutter closed. Layla moved slowly, and Jefferson thought he could _see_ the squeeze of her pussy on Whale. Staring, he touched a fingertip to the puckered opening her pose revealed, color rising to his face to think of Whale looking upon such a private part of himself. Whale's eyes opened, Roy Batty drunk and deranged on sex, and met his. Big, long-fingered, surgeon's hands spread over Layla's ass, rounding to the curve of her hips.

"Fuck... this is... too much." Whale murmured.

He shifted a bit, flexed his hips, and Layla was able to gradually back up against him. She brought her feet up to the edge of the chair... then Jefferson lost his head. He knelt between Whale's thighs, and the closeness, the in-your-face reality of Whale's cock moving in and out of Layla's pussy got into him like an infectious agent. He was infected with a lunatic horniness. He was suddenly in a world both medical and pornographic... diagrams and cross sections from Whale's books were sprung fully to life in his head, but just as fully realized was flesh, scent... the reddening and slippery wetness of erect and swelling tissues. Heat and sound... Layla's focused breathing and Whale's moans, muffled as his mouth suckled at Layla's neck. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies... the blood that was the culprit behind all of it. Chemical and pheromone-heady veins gone mad, pumping, working hard to climb higher, to spill over and drown.

Layla's clit was so full and hard, it might be a tiny cock, swollen beneath its little hood. Whale's fingers grazed it, and Jefferson could tell it was never quite enough. He felt her ache, empathy in full gear. He felt her angsty need for release. When they went still, breathing hard, the little thing jumped, almost in time with a pulse Jefferson could see at the base of Whale's cock. His own cock throbbed, both in sympathy and want. Hands braced to Layla'a inner thighs, he brought his lips to her clit.

For a moment she seemed to freeze, gasping. Then her voice rose, escalating cries. Her hips pumped; she rode Whale in a way that made the big muscles of his thighs tremble, his heels pressed hard to the floor, toes digging in. Jefferson didn't even bother with his tongue... the movement of fucking was too much to keep up with. He kept up a soft, steady suckle, nuzzling and kissing the needy, little clit, pleased with Layla's reactions and desperate to be touched, himself. He felt Whale move his upper body... he felt himself watched. Whale murmured, "Yes... fuck, yes... yes..."

Jefferson felt a wave of pleasure, sharp and derelict with want, grip and the release his pelvic floor. It left shuddering echoes of something hedonistic and raw. Unbidden, the final scene of the video Whale left for him came back, the soft colors and lighting replaced with stark whites, rich reds and looming darkness. The cock in its relentless, ruddy drive; the wide-open-mouthed bliss on the face of the man who was fucked.

Jefferson's hips pumped air. Mouth still in a rhythmic suck, his thumbs caressed over Layla's labia, wet and hot, swollen around Whale's cock. He moved one hand to cup, to lightly squeeze Whale's balls, thrilled with the moan Whale made; the almost panicked, pleasured gasp.

Then Layla was coming. She came hard... Jefferson could feel the jump and contraction at his lips, and the force of it pushed Whale from her body. Shiny, fiery-red cock, sprung and bouncing, veiny and angry. Layla's cries, her scent filled the room. Filled Jefferson's head. Holding onto her shaking thighs, he bent to take Whale's dislodged cock in his mouth.

... Greedy, greedy.... blood and pussy and cock... Jefferson suckled the head like a ripe, terribly juicy fruit that - gluttonous - he ate whole. Then he bobbed his head. He took as much of Whale as he could, sometimes nearly nose to pubic hair. He was drooling... he didn't care. He closed his eyes and listened to Whale, eventually aware that Layla had moved. Whale's legs surrounded him fully; one hand was fisted in his hair, one cupped his jaw.

"Yes... fuck, baby... _yes_...."

There it was again... Jefferson couldn't really scoff; he was in no position. Whale's cock in his mouth felt sumptuous... lavish and hot. So badly, he wanted to make him come. To spurt, hot and helpless, into his mouth. Where the desire had come from, the deepness and the urgency, he didn't know.

Jefferson opened his eyes. Meeting Whale's eyes seemed to shoot something painful through both of them. Both moaned, and then Jefferson had to close his eyes again... he breathed hard through his nose. His fingers were in a warm press beneath Whale's tensed balls, feeling that he was going over the edge. He felt the tug, the jump and contraction of hyper-sensitive muscle and tissue, the pumping of blood; and then Whale's cock seemed to expand in his mouth.

He might have backed off, fearful of gagging, but Whale held him in place. His hips thrust. He came... a gorgeous abundance filling Jefferson's mouth, both spilling out and gushing down his throat. Almost as sating as blood.

　

　

　

　

 


	6. Boo-Boo

 

 

"I think Jefferson's in love." Layla teased.

He lay with his head in her lap. He pressed a little kiss to her belly, smiling as her fingers played in his hair.

"He's not thinking about me at all."

Whale lifted his head. "He _better_ not be, right at this moment. I'm the one sucking his dick." To Jefferson, he added, "You better be thinking of me, brother."

Jefferson only moaned, caught between the wet, hot rhythm that once more captured his cock, and the soft, sweet, suddenly rather maternal feeling of Layla, coddling him. He was coddled and sucked. It was the most he could even imagine of rapture, save for the element of blood. Even without it, he was euphoric. He pulled Layla down to suckle at her breasts, her hair falling forward with a scent of cloves... oddly, of baby's breath and freshly turned earth. His moan was muffled, his body held and cushioned by both of them when he spasmed, body arching and muscles tensed.... When he came, his angst emptying into Whale with something like a sob in his chest.

Whale was actually a better study at cock-sucking than he was. Or, possibly, his cock wasn't as big as Whale's, but he didn't want to consider that too committedly. Whale hadn't been sloppy, as he had been. None of the drooling and near-gagging... He'd been determined, and - Jesus - how he _sucked_. His cheeks hollowed and his tongue did such spell-binding, enthralling things... Jefferson felt that he would have to question this expertise at a later time.

He felt Whale's near collapse, his head at Jefferson's belly. His hands moved up and down Jefferson's body, warm and surprisingly reassuring.

"Yes. It's love." Layla announced. "I see it clearly. I think my work here is soon to be done."

Jefferson made a small whine of protest, and Whale said, "Surely not, sweetheart. We adore you. We're your biggest fans."

"Aw." Layla said.

"Besides, Jefferson's kind of a prude. I doubt we'll ever actually, you know, fuck."

Jefferson, with great effort, raised his head and gave Whale a disapproving frown.

"Give it time." Layla said, voice dry. Jefferson turned his frown on her.

"Oh, you're just so cute." she said. She touched his mouth, still swollen from Whale. Jefferson blushed, never sure what to do when women regarded him in a way that was lusty and yet mothering.

Voice amused, Whale said, "Isn't he, though? Look at the boo-boo face. I can't reach, Layla. Pinch his cheek."

She did, making Jefferson break into a grin and give a huff-laugh. He shook her off.

"Woobie-woobie." she said.

Jefferson said, "Those aren't words."

"Shut up. They are, too."

Whale said, "He looks like he should be wearing khakis and penny loafers. A tight, white tee with cigarettes rolled into the sleeve. A little, boo-boo face street tough, about to break into a good, old fashioned musical about gang rivalries."

" _Right_?" Layla agreed emphatically.

"I'm right here." Jefferson said, a little unnerved to feel himself studied and to hear himself _described_. "And, if anyone cares, I'm a father, not a boo-boo face. Or... a woobie."

"No." Whale said, a soft kiss to his lower belly. "We don't care."

Pinching his cheek again, an auntie gesture that was out of keeping with her silver-tipped fingers that smelled of sex, Layla said, "You do have a boo-boo face, sugar. You may as well accept it."

Whale murmured, "Big, sad eyes. Dark, broody brows. You can't tell me I don't know what women like... these are the reasons they think you're the pretty one."

" _Mm_ hm." Layla concurred.

They got quiet, bodies spent and relaxing. Whale, pillowed at Jefferson's hip, quietly sang, "See these eyes so green... I can stare for a thousand years..."

.... Colder than the moon, Jefferson thought.

Well, it's been so long.

　

　

THE END.....?

　

 


End file.
